


fire on her fingertips

by riczi (waved)



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Disassociation, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, PWP, Religious Delusions, Trans JD, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4943680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waved/pseuds/riczi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her touch is so soft. She's trying to be careful, he guesses - but he's been through too fucking much to deserve careful, or to even want or expect it. He wants her. All he wants is her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fire on her fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> IM SORRY MOM

"Hey, hey, JD!" Veronica calls to her boyfriend from across the hall. He lifts his head when he hears her, turning around to face her. Veronica sifts through the other students to reach his side, smiling widely as she holds a bag in her hands.

"Hey, Ronnie," JD greets with a grin, ruffling Veronica's hair. Sticking her tongue out at him, she ducks from underneath his hand and instead cuddles into his chest.

"I have something for you," Veronica says after a moment, lifting the package to show that, yes, that's what she was giving him. "Though... I think you might want to open it at home?"

JD raises an eyebrow.

"What, is it a sex toy or something?" he says teasingly, booping Veronica's nose, and she chokes.

"N-no!" she splutters, blushing as she digs her elbow into JD's ribs. "It's just... a gift. Well, can I come over when we get out, then? I think it'd be better to give it to you there."

"Sure, sure, whatever strikes your fancy," JD says with a shrug and ducks down to kiss Veronica's cheek.

* * *

 

"Uh..." Veronica worries the paper handles of the bag in her hands before shoving it into JD's lap. "It's -- well, open it, I guess?"

JD chuckles at Veronica's expression and picks out the tissue paper, pulling out... fabric? Veronica squirms across from him.

"It's a binder," she blurts out before she can stop it. "You said you wanted something like that and you can't use Ace bandages so I—"

She's cut off as JD gives her a quick kiss, then jumps up and sheds his trademark jacket. The flannel comes off next, then his t-shirt, till all he has left is a sports bra, which he peels off as well. Veronica blushes. He plays with the binder in his hands, trying to figure out just how it worked out, nonchalantly naked from the waist up.

"Do you need help?" Veronica pipes up, purposely looking anywhere but JD's chest.

"...yes." he mutters, so Veronica stands, takes the binder from his hands, and begins fiddling with it herself.

"Uhh, I think..." she starts, and pulls the binder over JD's head instead of finishing her sentence. He pulls his arms through the holes and Veronica pulls the clasps on the side closed. JD pats his chest a few times, running his fingers over the fabric of the binder.

"This is weird," he notes after a moment, and Veronica swallows. "But... it's nice. Finally got that flat chest."

He presses a kiss against Veronica's lips, smiling as he does so. He's so in love with her, and his heart hurts whenever he looks at her. And when she does things like this... it just makes him fall even more head-over-heels.

"You look handsome," Veronica says into the kiss, and that just makes JD kiss her harder.

Soon enough, his binder — _his_  binder, it's his, he is the amazing, proud owner of one — is coming off again, after a whisper of "is this okay?" from Veronica. And then Veronica, his beautiful, wonderful, God-like Veronica, puts her hands on his breasts and she knows exactly what to do to make him melt.

His experience with top dysphoria is null — his bottom dysphoria is essentially nonexistent — but only when he's alone (or with Veronica).

In public, hyper masculinity drowns him. He has to be this, be that, if he doesn't have a flat chest, he's a joke, if he doesn't have a dick, he isn't a "real" man. He's still a girl, they say, why does he say he's not? Every move is a new start, he thinks, an opportunity to start over. Every school, every fucking one, from middle to high school, had found out he was trans and they _crucified_  him. They were merciless. There were those who were like him, but weren't out, and they... they stayed silent. Still, he respected them.

His signature trench coat was a gift from his father — "If you're gonna act like a boy," he had said. "Use this to cover up. No one's gonna notice you have tits if you wear it." JD had felt a slight tinge of — of what, love? — no, tolerance for his father at that moment, but it was gone within the hour when Bud Dean came into JD's room, clearly drunk, and — and —

"Jason?" Veronica asks quietly. Her voice is soft; slow, warm puffs of air against JD's head; it is protection, it is love, it is security. They're lying on his bed. Her shirt and his pants are on the floor, her skirt hiked up her thighs.

She's holding him like a mother would hold her child, hands underneath his shoulders and fingers curled at the nape of his neck. His head rests in the crook of her shoulder. His hand lies on her thigh.

They breathe together, slowly, slowly. Like nothing is wrong.

"Yes?" he answers, lips pressed to her skin. It's wet. He tastes salt. "Sorry." he mumbles before she can say anything. "I think — I think I lost a little time. Sorry."

"You okay? You were crying." He cringes. Crying while they're about to get it on... smooth.

"I was thinkin' about shit," he admits, closing his eyes. "My dad. Past schools. Shit."

"Okay." she whispers. Her lips find his forehead. "I love you."

"Our love is God," he manages in response. His grip on her hip tightens, just a little. He presses his fingertips into her skin, and presses feather-light kisses to her neck. He is — he doesn't know what he is. His chest grows tight.

"I think —" he starts, and suddenly his face is wet and warm. More tears. Why? Why is he crying? Veronica holds him closer, but it doesn't feel like she's there at all.

"Are you disassociating again?" she asks.

"I don't know." he breathes. She takes that as a yes.

"Close your eyes." she demands. He does. "Take deep breaths." He does. He can't smell her perfume — he knows it should be there but his senses are just so _fucked_  right now.

"Focus on me... focus on my voice." He can feel her fingers run through his hair but it feels disconnected.

"You're real. You are real, you are right here, and you are safe. You are Jason Dean and you're my boyfriend and..." Her voice cracks. "You are the best thing in my life. And I love you so, so much." She tilts his head up — and her touch is solid, it's there, he can _feel_  her, smell her, taste her — and kisses him fiercely, to tell him that he's here, and she's here, too. She's here to protect him, and he knows it.

"Ronnie," JD breathes against her lips. " _God_ , I love you..."

She pulls him closer, closer, so they're chest to chest and he's drowning in her. Her skin is so warm, fire against his hands, burning him as he caresses her thigh.

She is everything. She is everything to him.

He pushes up her skirt more before she lets out a laugh and unzips it. The comforting contact is gone as she sits up. For a moment, he panics, sitting up too in case she's trying to leave — but she just shimmies out of her skirt and throws it to the floor. She sticks out her tongue playfully as she unclips her bra.

He's on the verge of saying something; he's just staring at her body, as he does whenever she undresses — he doesn't know how it's possible that an angel was compelled to be with him, and hell if he won't appreciate everything his angel does.

He flounders for something to say, but before he can even think of anything, Veronica shuts down his brain with her tongue in his mouth.

Her hand touches his hip, barely there, hesitant even though her kisses are not. He just breathes a shaky "yes" into her mouth, and her confidence is back; she pinches his skin before delving into his boxers. Veronica's touch is intoxicating. Her fingers just barely graze his clit and he's already a groaning, panting mess, kissing his angel open-mouthed, drool spilling like he's a fucking _dog_.

Her touch is so soft. She's trying to be careful, he guesses - but he's been through too fucking much to  _deserve_ careful, or to even want or expect it. He wants her. All he wants is her. And he tells her so, makes sure she _knows_ , and with a shaky gasp that he feels on his tongue, she presses her fingers harder against him.

" _Fuck_ , Ronnie, I —" He keens, rocking his hips into her hand and tilting his head back — it's too much, too much to handle, and Veronica's fingers are touching him _just_  right —

And then her touch is gone. He feels her sticky fingers glide up his stomach, and he opens his eyes just in time to see her pop them into her mouth and lick them clean.

"Christ." he sighs. She flashes him a grin, then wipes her fingers on the duvet and peels his boxers off his sweaty hips. Then she takes off her panties and —

Oh God. She touches herself, gently spreading her lips, and she knows just how to tease herself, and fuck if she isn't teasing him too with all the soft, breathy gasps she lets out as she glides a slick finger over her clit.

It's unfair, he thinks, like he's a child again. _He_ wants to touch her, _he_  wants to be the one who makes her shiver and gasp and scream. That's _his_  job; he's not going to let her do it for him.

He grabs her wrist and laces their fingers together before pressing their entangled hands into the sheets. She grunts in protest at the lack of touch, but he can hear her sharp intake of breath when he nudges her legs further apart. He presses soft kisses against the creamy white of her thigh — and when she's not expecting it, he bites, hard. Her back arches and a shaky groan falls from her lips. When he pulls away, there's an angry red mark; he kisses it as a form of apology.

He litters her thighs with hickies, marking her so she knows that she belongs to _him_  and no one else. She writhes underneath him, begging, sobbing for his touch, and she all but screams when his teeth graze her clit. She's completely at his mercy. She's shaking so violently he's almost afraid she'll break — but she's tough; much tougher than him.

She tastes sweet — as if it's possible any part of her couldn't be — and he can't get enough of her, licking, sucking, biting, till her voice goes hoarse, till her fingers tangle into his hair and pull without regard, till she rocks her hips up into him. He lets her have his way with him; he lets her fuck his mouth, so long as she knows he is still the one in charge. He could hurt her. He could hurt her. The thought alone sends an involuntary shiver down his spine.

There's a sudden shriek above him — Veronica's hands snap back, fingers still entangled in his hair; the sharp pain is gratifying, a pleasant burn. And then Veronica is a pathetic, moaning mess, thighs trembling, toes curling, whole body shaking, shaking, shaking. One more roll of her hips and she's pushing him away, her stomach curling and convulsing with aftershocks, oversensitivity.

"Shit," she whines once she can breathe again. "Fuck, JD, that was so—" Her sentence breaks off with a squeal as JD presses a kiss against her clit. "Jesus, asshole, I'm still sensitive...!" she complains tiredly. He moves to her thighs again, slight laughs pushing stale air against her bruised skin.

"Fine, fine," he says, relenting after a few more sweetly intended hickies, drinking in Veronica's gasps, Veronica's huffs, Veronica's laughs. She's beautiful, so beautiful, and every sound she makes, every movement, is a gift.

"I love you," he whispers, lips pressed to her stomach. Every kiss he gives is followed by the same blessing, the same assurance. He feels her stomach curl beneath him before she hooks her hands under his shoulders and drags him up to her level.

"I love you, too," she mumbles back, eyes drooping with exhaustion, but she still kisses him, alights his cells with fire, intensifies the hunger in his gut.

Her fingers are deft, taking no time with foreplay; she scrapes her fingernails against his sweaty, sensitive skin before her fingertips find his entrance and slip in. He wheezes. Her thumb glides over his clit after a few gentle thrusts, and when she begins to move her hand faster, he fucking _squeaks_  — his voice comes out high and hoarse as the pleasure hits him. Veronica just grins, giving JD soft, closed-mouth kisses as she finger-fucks and teases him relentlessly.

"Jesus," JD sighs, and he swears he's not religious, but the way Veronica's touching him is surely something otherworldly, something heavenly — at least that's how it feels. She's an angel, she's God, she's something he couldn't even fucking begin to explain but she's _here_  and she's _her_ , and she's _holy_.

He moves as much as he can into her fingers, chest heaving with heavy breaths, trying to kiss Veronica but he's drooling too much —

He suffices with mumbled obscenities whispered across her freckles.

"Jesus _fuck_ — Veronica, y-you feel so good, h-hah —" It becomes far too much far too quickly, and with a gravelly moan, JD comes, hips stuttering as Veronica gives a few last, weak thrusts to drag out his pleasure. His body convulses as even the sweet feeling of her fingers gets uncomfortable; he tells her so, and she does the same as she did before when she takes her hand away — she licks her fingers clean of him. He shivers.

Then he slumps into her, his breath escaping him in one huff. He can hear her heartbeat, a gentle thump-thumping reverberating in his ears, and —

"I worship you."

She kisses the top of his head.

"I know."

**Author's Note:**

> this was just supposed to be a fic where veronica gives jd his first binder.......bye


End file.
